Deodorant Coke
by dorkashi
Summary: When America finds out that coke is Philippines' deodorant. I kid you not. male!Piri-tan x America


**Deodorant Coke**

Written by _IceFlake 77_ and _holmesy_

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At first glance, anyone would think that he was just some kid who had twigs for limbs and (finally) wanted to break out of that particular image. That was, of course, until said kid showed just about everyone who was harboring those thoughts that he was perfectly capable of carrying something that was at least twice his weight.

Which was why no one in that particular gym ever dared to doubt just how strong the scrawny little kid that always accompanied Alfred, one of the establishment's most frequent patrons, was.

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Philippines tried to concentrate-really, he did, but he couldn't help it.

Getting distracted, that is.

Getting distracted by one Alfred F. Jones, that is.

Getting distracted by one Alfred F. Jones, who was on the bench press at the moment, looking like the hottest thing to walk the Earth as sweat gathered and glistened and dripped off his chiseled arms as he let out these tiny little grunts whenever he exerted the effort in order to lift around 300 pounds or so into the air, that is.

Philippines came out of his trance-like state rather abruptly when he felt the things he was holding starting to slip out of his grip. And then he remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

He tightened his grip and lifted the 50-pound barbells high over his head, the one that was entertaining thoughts such as: _This is no time to be staring, Felipe. Not now, not now. And especially not at him. Not at the guy whom you see as a big brother. Not the guy who sees you as a little brother._

It was like the worst case of 'wrong place, wrong time,' only with the added factor of 'wrong person.'

His eyes didn't listen, though, and wandered back to the blond, who was still well into his workout routine.

"Okay, just a little bit..." passed the blond's lips as he struggled (well, at least minimally, Philippines figured) to catch his breath. After a few more lifts, America finally placed the barbell back onto the rack, releasing a pleased sigh afterwards. He sat up, mildly stretching his limbs, and when he reached out to grab his towel did he only notice the intent stare from his 'younger brother.' With an oblivious, large grin, he turned to Philippines, loudly saying, "Hey, what's up? Done with your workout?"

Truly, there was something horrible, and at the same time amazing, about being caught staring at someone you weren't supposed to. Philippines might as well have looked like a deer caught in headlights, but, unlike the deer, Philippines sorely wished that he had already been hit by the car. Right here, right now.

He spluttered, muttering out unheard excuses, and failed to realize that his hold on the barbells began to slacken. "S-Sorry, it's -!" His eyes completely wide, Philippines was reduced into a fit of incoherent phrases, as America grabbed the barbells just in time before it actually squished the former's face.

"Careful there, dude! You almost did yourself in," America gave out a rather nervous chuckle, "and I mean, dude, like literally." He dropped the barbells back onto its rack. "You all right there, bro?" he said, addressing the tan boy, who almost looked as if he had seen his life flash before his eyes.

Keyword: _Almost._

"Y-Yes," Philippines choked out, sitting up afterward. "S-_Salamat_."

"What?" America loudly asked in return, giving out what everyone had come to know as his signature guffaw. "You said something? Well, I guess if you're all right, then that's good," he said, patting the younger boy on the back.

Philippines' left eyebrow twitched in a quick reflex. He sighed. "I suppose..."

His eyes flitted toward the American once again, his mind wandering off to places he had declared beforehand he didn't want it to. Oddly enough, this time he _somehow_ relented. He thought, through keen observation, about how ripped the blond's muscles were, and Philippines had somehow felt the familiar feeling of jealousy ripple in his chest. He, at times, heard England noisily whine about America's monstrous strength, and Philippines was surprised (_not anymore though_, he added as an afterthought, because he _had_ been tagging along with America, and seeing the blond display such strength everyday had already granted him the privilege _not_ to be surprised) to agree that he shared the same sentiments.

"Hey, Felipe, wanna go get some burgers later?"

Philippines blinked then pursed his lips. "But we just _exercised_; and besides, knowing you, you'll make me pay for it again."

"Ah, don't be such a stick in the mud! It'll be fine, it'll be fine," America said, playfully draping an arm over Philippines' shoulder. The latter found himself completely caught off-guard at the action, but quickly shot down any more thoughts as he said,

"Hands off for a moment, _kuya_," Philippines languidly got America's arm off him, "you're sweaty. It's rather uncomfortable." Philippines then adopted a look of realization, as he slowly continued, "And you didn't deny the fact that you'll make me pay for your burgers."

Ignoring the last statement, America withdrew his arm and gave that big, hearty laugh of his-the one that never failed to make Philippines' heart skip a beat (or two, or three hundred). "Alright, alright. What do you say we hit the showers first and _then_ go for some burgers?"

Confronted with that gorgeous smile and that amiable familiarity that America gifted to only a handful of nations, the younger man found himself agreeing, even if he wasn't looking forward to being the one shelling out money for food again.

_Well, _he told himself, _I'll just blame my lapse in judgment on the distraction..._

His eyes seemed to not want to venture anywhere away from America's ripped form.

… _Yes, it's definitely the distraction's fault._

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He sighed as he closed his eyes and simply let himself _feel_. The spray hitting his skin with little pin pricks. His hair being massaged into submission under the weight of the water. Liquid warmth washing over him, cascading down his back, dripping down his legs, pooling at his feet.

He reached forward and shut off the shower. For the next few minutes, just let all the water drip off, listening to the _pitter-patter_ that the drops created as they landed on the floor.

Philippines couldn't believe just how _relaxed_ he was, like his _'oh-god-looking-at-my-big-brother-this-way-totally-isn't-right' _dilemma from earlier had never existed.

_Thank God for warm showers, _he thought as he turned around and grabbed his primary-colored towel that he had slung over the door earlier. He wiped himself down and dried his hair as best as he could before he wrapped the towel around his waist.

He hadn't realized just how hot he had set the water to up until that moment that he stepped out of the shower. He shivered as his skin was met with the cold air and his toes curled against the cool tiles that they stood upon.

_The sooner I move, the sooner I can get dressed,_ he reminded himself as he did just that: _move._

Upon nearing the locker area, Philippines couldn't help but notice that his companion was already there, already wearing his pants, and...

... That was about it. He was shirtless, shoeless, and his star-spangled towel was hanging around his neck. He seemed to be a little harassed, given the way that he was searching for something inside his locker with little to no avail, if the slightly annoyed look on his face was anything to go by.

"_Kuya_?" Philippines said, making the blond look his way. "You looking for something?"

America gave him a little smile, chasing away the annoyance that was previously occupying his face (only a little though). "Ahaha, it's kinda embarrassing, but it looks like I forgot to bring deodorant."

"Oh? That's probably good, isn't it?" Philippines muttered absentmindedly, a slight smile painting his lips. He trudged toward his locker and opened it, fishing inside for his clothes. Realizing the rather vague meaning behind his words, the boy momentarily stared up at the ceiling before letting out a mild-mannered laugh. "Ah, not that I'm saying that out of spite. It's just that, your deodorant has a strong smell, doesn't... it?"

He quickly turned his back on America, as Philippines fought the rising blush. His clothes in hand, he scooted away from the blond before starting to get dressed. The boy didn't see the befuddled look crossing America's face, but even if he had seen it, Philippines probably wouldn't want to acknowledge that. Of course, the younger boy knew that America wouldn't (and wasn't about to) understand the implications behind his words, but the blond might as well had thought Philippines' demeanor to be intricately odd.

Philippines fumbled with the zipper of his pants, his cheeks still crudely splashed with red. His thoughts had gone off to another track; he remembered the times when America would forcefully - to others, most likely, but Philippines welcomed it anyway - bring the younger boy into a hug, and Philippines would find himself flush against the blond's body. He was considerably shorter than America, anybody could see that, but Philippines would think nothing of that and would simply, although it was a motion that would go unnoticed, snuggle closer to America. The strong scent of antiperspirant would waft into Philippines' nose, and the boy would give an experimental sniff in an attempt to identify what America had on. Philippines would almost let out an audible sigh.

There was always something enticing about a man's choice of scent. The women always smelled so sweet, fruity and floral; not that it was bad or anything, but it was, admittedly, completely different.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when America placed a large hand atop one tan shoulder. "Hey, dude, mind if I borrow your deodorant? Come on, I really want to get outta here and get some burgers," America said, grinning, as Philippines wheeled around and stared right into the blond's anticipating face. "So, that's cool, right?"

"I guess so," Philippines sullenly said, nodding, before turning back to his locker. America hadn't noticed the abrupt change in Philippines' tone. In the dark haired boy's mind, he could see a freight train slowly move away from the vicinity, and when Philippines made an abstract attempt to chase after it, the train simply went off and disappeared from sight.

He was inwardly displeased that America wouldn't be wearing that delirious scent today.

"Right," Philippines said, handing America a small plastic packet of white powder. "We usually use that at home, and it's really effective, too." He waved a dismissive hand. "It's better for your underarms to be wet, so that it'll stick better -"

He was cut off by a loud shriek and a small _plop._

When Philippines looked, he was confronted with a scene that would've looked hilarious any day if it wasn't for the fact that _it didn't make sense_. The packet was now on the ground, thankfully still closed (he didn't have an extra one on him), and America was simply _gawking_ at it... and at Philippines. His eyes darted from the innocent item on the ground to the tan boy's face rapidly, like he was trying hard to make heads or tails of the situation. The younger of the two of them raised an eyebrow when the blond even went as far as taking a step back.

"Felipe..." America practically whispered, the mispronounced name (Philippines, of course, was already used to this as well) rolling off his tongue urgently. "This... You... Why do you have this?"

"Huh?" was the only intelligible (not really) thing the other was able to give back. The previously raised eyebrow went even higher.

Obviously not pleased with the nonchalant answer, America bent down, grabbed the packet between his pointer and thumb (as if he didn't want to use more fingers than what was necessary to lift it), and stalked over to Philippines, getting _right up in his face_, making the other instinctively take a step back. He waved the item in his face. "Why do you have this, Felipe?" His low tone now was firm, demanding. His brow was furrowed and his jaw was pulled back in a deep frown.

"I... uh..." Philippines stumbled a little over his words, nervous of what would happen if he were to somehow get the question wrong. "I bought it...?" He tried to reassure himself that since it was the truth, nothing bad would happen.

America scoffed, looking to side momentarily. "Of course you bought it. You expect me to believe that you cook this shit up in your kitchen?" When the other didn't answer, he amended, "Then again, maybe you do."

At this point, Philippines couldn't help but be very, very, _very_ confused. "Uh... what... _are_ we talking about?"

The answer was given to him in a heated whisper: "This stuff's illegal! _That's_ what we're talking about!"

His eyes darted to the packet that America was _still_ dangling in front of his face. "... _Tawas_?"

"Yeah, yeah, _gasundheit_, whatever." America shook his head. "Focus, will you? This is -"

"_Tawas_ is illegal in your country." Philippines stated skeptically as he eyed the white powder that sat inside the plastic, finally understanding (at least a little) of what was going on.

"I don't care jack shit about what you call it over in _yours_, or even if it's legal, but here's thing: it's not legal _here_." He accentuated the last four words with four equal jabs to the smaller man's chest, the last of which was the hardest, and Philippines noted with some unamusement that it would probably bruise by tomorrow. "Now it's either you tell me how you were able to smuggle this in so I can track down whoever sold this to you and make them close up shop, or I take you to the authorities and subject you to the basically the same process-only much longer, and I won't be able to guarantee you access back into your country."

"So you're telling me..." Philippines began, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're going to detain me because I have in my possession... _organic deodorant_."

America groaned. "Yes! I -" And then the words registered. "... What?"

"You heard me right," Philippines said in a slightly constricted tone. He was quite unamused at the turn of events, and the crowd behind America, some of them craning their necks to see what the commotion was about, didn't help quell his annoyance. "You asked me for some deodorant, _kuya_, if I remember correctly, and I let you have some." He shifted his weight to his left foot, tilting his head so that he could properly glare at the onlookers. This went unnoticed by America.

"W-Wait, so this is... deodorant? But... I thought -"

"_Kuya_," Philippines returned his gaze at the blond, looking miffed, "Not everyone uses _Old Spice_, or - or - _AXE_, like you do, you know? _Alam mo ba 'yon_?"

America looked completely dumbstruck. "Why are you so _angry_?"

Philippines wanted to do a 'facepalm' at that moment—really, he did—but he resisted. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, trying to keep a lid on the very _urge _to just _yell_ for no obvious reason. "I'm not _angry,_" he answered, a little venomously, if he had to say so himself.

"You sound pretty angry to me."

"_I am simply_," Philippines continued, louder this time in order to drown out whatever else America could say to aggravate him further, "irritated." He returned to crossing his arms and gauged the blond's reaction.

It was a cross between wonder and confusion. "'Irritated'?" he parroted.

"That you would think I would ever even dream of carrying drugs into the States, yes." He gave a shallow nod. He was barely holding onto his emotions as it was—encompassing his anger was, more than anything, pain. The statement would've usually been said with mock-hurt, but in this situation, the hurt was just all too real. "I can't believe you'd actually think…" he broke off into a mutter, looking away, and was pleased to see that the small crowd from earlier had now dispersed, but some people were clearly still eavesdropping even as they went about their tasks, trying to catch snippets of their conversation. He discontinued his line of thought and just shook his head. "Never mind," he amended before reaching forward and snatching the item out of America's hand.

… That, of course, failed, when America refused to loosen his grip on the packet. It wasn't like it'd be hard for him to exert that much effort into being so stubbornly strong, of course, since he _was _able to lift a buffalo approximately five times his size back in his childhood, but this well-known fact didn't deter Philippines from trying (and failing) to yank it away anyway. Try he did, until he feared that the plastic would just rip open.

"Felipe," the blond steadily said (there it was again—that mispronunciation, which wasn't as attractive in Philippines' annoyed state).

Philippines didn't listen and continued attempting to salvage his _tawas _from this man's insanely strong grip.

"Felipe."

It was ignored once more.

"_Felipe_."

The mention of Philippines' human name this time was accompanied by one of his wrists being held. He didn't choose to stop trying to get his _tawas _back, he really wasn't, but he was forced to, in fear this time of having America break his wrist in case he didn't stop being uncooperative. Still, he refused to look up into the blond's eyes, knowing that he'd just melt into a gooey pile of merciful nothing if he did. _No, _he had to stay strong. He had to stay unforgiving. He had to do this, not be a doormat, make America know that his brand of jumping to conclusions and feeling the need to be the quick fix was _not okay._

"Look," a sigh. "I'm sorry."

That simple statement—plus the pat on the head that came with it, the one that was so reminiscent of their days as (practically) colonizer and colony—was what did him in. Philippines didn't stand a chance. His anger dissipated, his grip slackened, he looked up at America, then back down at his bare feet. His toes were curling because of the cold and because of slight embarrassment.

Overall, he just felt _exhausted._

"It's fine," he mumbled back.

_Doormat._

The plastic packet was swiftly pulled out from between his limp fingers.

"Alright, so now that my apology has been accepted," America began and Philippines looked up, slightly surprised that the blond had jumped back to being his normal self so quickly. The taller man was waving the packet back and forth, grinning as he did. "Teach me how to use this… er… _tawas_, will ya?"

Ignoring America's horrible pronunciation of the word (the one that made it sound like it was spelled with a 'z' instead of an 's' at the end), Philippines blinked and looked around. A few people were staring at the item America was holding, horror and shock written across their faces. The others simply went about their own business, not minding them in the least. The tan boy smiled as his darted back to America. He held his hand out. "Give it here. I'll demonstrate."

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At first glance, anyone would think that he was just some kid who had twigs for limbs and (finally) wanted to break out of that particular image. That was, of course, until said kid showed just about everyone who was harboring those thoughts that he was perfectly capable of carrying something that was at least twice his weight.

Which was why no one in that particular gym ever dared to doubt just how strong the scrawny little kid that always accompanied Alfred, one of the establishment's most frequent patrons, was.

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"So about those burgers…"

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It was also the reason why nobody ever dared question why said kid seemed to always be rubbing his armpits with cocaine after his showers.

**End Notes**

Hey, _holmesy_ here. Sykes (_IceFlake 77_) and I actually wrote this about two years ago, and we never bothered posting it. I saw this in my external hard drive and felt compelled to post it anyway! It's a waste not to. XD Hehe.

I am quite a fan of male!Philippines x America. I also think male!Philippines can be such an America fanboy! I think it's cute.

_Kuya _– a term used to address males older than you; literally 'older brother' (applies even to strangers. It's to denote respect).

"_Alam mo ba 'yon?"_ – "Did you know that?"


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